A Good Night to Fall Hard
by melodyfair05
Summary: "Juliet groans aloud as she pulls up in front of the cheery green letters of the Psych office. It's no use. She knew it was a lost cause as soon as she got in her car – all roads, mental and physical, apparently lead here tonight." After a rough day, Juliet watches a movie with Shawn. Harmless Shules fluff.


_A/N: I own nothing save my love for Shules._

Juliet groans aloud as she pulls up in front of the cheery green letters of the Psych office. It's no use. She knew it was a lost cause as soon as she got in her car – all roads, mental and physical, apparently lead here tonight.

It's not that she doesn't want to see Shawn. It's the opposite. _That_ is the problem she usually avoids by distracting herself with work (although Shawn has become so rooted in that aspect of her life that it's hardly an escape at this point). But on a day when Juliet narrowly avoided a bullet in her back, she cannot bring herself to think of work any longer; she needs a distraction from her go-to distraction. This is why she finds herself at the door of Shawn and Gus's office just after 10pm on a Friday, scrunching her eyes closed as she knocks and pretending to hope Shawn won't answer.

"Jules!" She opens her eyes. He is in sock feet in the doorway, holding a remote and grinning like a kid on Christmas.

"Hi," she says, then "I know it's late – I was…driving home and saw your light on, I'm sorry to bother you." Shawn looks anything but bothered.

"Don't be silly, Jules! Honestly, your arrival couldn't be more welcome – Gus has a date tonight so I figured I'd burn the midnight oil here, but I forgot there's a _Die Hard_ marathon on cable. Obviously I cannot get any work done until I know if John McClane makes it out alive," he says seriously.

"Shawn, you've seen _Die Hard_ at least a dozen times," Juliet points out drily.

"True. But Bruce makes it new for me with every repeat viewing," Shawn replies. He winks at her, then bounds to the couch, throws himself into its corner, flings his feet onto the coffee table and pats the spot to his left. "Come on in," he says, "you haven't missed much…of the second airing," he finishes, a slight sheepishness creeping into his voice. Juliet shakes her head, feeling simultaneously more at ease and more on edge. Cuddling up with Shawn to watch a movie could create a different, possibly more dangerous tension than she felt being shot at.

"Jules…is everything okay?" Shawn asks, peering at her from the couch. She rouses herself and walks quickly to him, settling in with a bit of space between her and his (warm, well-built) body. Shawn seems to take her approach as a yes and returns to the movie, but as she watches the screen she can feel his eyes scan her occasionally.

They watch in companionable silence until Shawn declares he's been rude in failing to provide snacks. He rummages in the kitchen for a bit, doctoring popcorn kernels with various spices; Juliet absently watches an infomercial for a kitchen mop that actually looks pretty great. Shawn returns to the couch bearing bottled water for her, a beer for himself and the popcorn, setting the bowl between them on the couch. Juliet tentatively pops one in her mouth and is pleasantly shocked at the flavor. "Shawn, this is delicious," she states, attacking the bowl with renewed vigor. Shawn grins, leaning back into the couch. He takes a sip of his beer and watches her eat handful after handful before asking, "Hungry much, Jules?"

"Starved," Juliet replies, idly watching Carl Winslow from _Family Matters_ enter the high rise. "I haven't eaten since I got shot at this afternoon," she says thoughtlessly, then freezes.

It is suddenly as though half the air in the room leaves. Shawn sits up, staring at her; Juliet leans back into the couch. "Jules," he says slowly. "What happened today?"

She picks at the rope trim of the throw pillow in her lap, popcorn forgotten. "I'm fine," she says to the pillow, then glances at him. From the position of his eyebrows Shawn does not appear to be buying what she is selling. Juliet curses herself for showing up at a psychic's office to hide from her troubles. However, he does not challenge her or ask again. Instead, he picks up the bowl of popcorn from between them, sits it on the table, then leans back into the couch – this time with his left arm outstretched across its back. He turns his eyes back to the television and takes a long swig of his beer.

Juliet gnaws on this while Carl and the SWAT team prepare their attack on Nakatomi Plaza. It is unlike Shawn to choose silence over incessant questioning. Are these long-dormant manners coming to roost? Is he waiting her out? Has _Die Hard_ simply recaptured his attention? _He_ does _love_ _Die Hard_ , she reasons with herself.

A rocket explodes on the screen without warning and Juliet jumps a mile. She cheats a look to her right – Shawn is suddenly much closer (her body, betraying her, inched toward him when the shots rang out), and he's looking at her with such concern in his eyes that she finds herself spewing the day's events before she even realizes she's released.

"…and I rolled to the left and she just missed me," she finishes, the words tumbling out of her, and Shawn is warm and there, his arm circling her, his hand rubbing up and down her upper arm as her head falls back onto his shoulder. She twists a bit on the couch to look at him.

"I know I shouldn't let it bother me, it's what I signed up for, but when you're actually out there and living it…" She fades, unsure what she even wants to end the thought with. But Shawn is nodding, gazing at her, and when he says "I know," she knows it is the truth. And there is comfort in that. He has stared down the barrel of a gun. He has run from bullets. He has been there.

Onscreen, McClane hands Gruber a gun. Juliet feels suddenly, horribly embarrassed. She has come here, well beyond any reasonable hour, to let this attractive man soothe her and calm her fears. This is not behavior one expects from a friend. Although there is an undeniable something between them, for the time being they're not acting on it, and Juliet does not want this moment of weakness to be seen as an indicator. She sits up and opens her mouth to apologize, but psychic that he is, Shawn seems to know what she's going to say and won't let her get the words out.

"We can watch something else," he says instead, diverting the conversation. "I understand if you're not in a _Die Hard_ mood." Juliet laughs softly.

"That you would offer to turn off a _Die Hard_ marathon is a true testament to our friendship," she smiles, and something flickers behind Shawn's eyes at that word. "But it's okay. I think spilling my guts to you got the nerves out of my system…and I really do want to see Alan Rickman get his comeuppance."

"There are few cinematic endings more satisfying," Shawn agrees, settling back into the couch. Juliet leans back into him instead of retreating to the middle cushion. She feels him inhale a half-step more quickly than normal, then exhale slowly. His arm, which had gone back to the back of the couch, returns to its previous spot around her shoulders; his left hand idly plays with the tips of the strands of her hair resting there. He takes another swig of his beer. Juliet watches his reflection in the television. He's looking at the set, but she knows he's watching her reflection, not the movie.

Juliet alternates between watching Shawn and watching the action unfold on the screen. Her taut nerves relax and she feels her eyelids grow heavy. She thinks she's still following the plot, but at some point realizes her eyes have been closed for a good chunk of time. She hears a late night show on the TV instead of Bruce Willis's voice. She can feel that Shawn has rearranged her so he can hold her with both arms, not just one. She wants so badly to sleep and hasn't felt this safe in ages.

"Don't fight it, sweetheart," Shawn murmurs, his lips grazing her ear – impossible to tell if it's simply an accidental result of proximity, her head resting high on his shoulder, or an intentional caress. Juliet hazily wonders if his words reference sleep or the sense of rightness she feels in this place. The endearment sounds foreign coming from his lips, but it's not unwelcome; it hangs in the air a moment, then melts, coating her with warmth. She relaxes a final muscle between her shoulder blades and feels his strong arms tighten almost imperceptibly around her.

 _If it takes her getting shot at to get her here_ , Shawn thinks later that night, a sleeping Juliet wrapped securely in his arms, _I hope every resident of Santa Barbara wakes up tomorrow trigger-happy._

 _Fin_


End file.
